


Drawn In

by yin_again



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yin_again/pseuds/yin_again
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the Sherlock Kink Meme; original prompt was <i>Sherlock poses nude for an art class. It's for a case. or</i><br/>Sherlock convinces John to pose nude for the art class. While Sherlock poses as an artist, cuz he can actually draw. Anyway, it's for a case. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawn In

“Sherlock, no.”

Sherlock gives him a bored glance. “John, I need to keep an eye on the suspect. I need more information on the charcoal found on the body. I’m only asking for an afternoon of your time.”

“A _naked_ afternoon!” John says. “You’re asking me to strip off and be _naked_ in front of twenty people for ‘only an afternoon’! I’ll pass.”

John blushes as Sherlock’s eyes rake over him. “Despite the fact that you wear loose clothes and any number of droopy jumpers, you have a perfectly acceptable body. You’ve no need to be ashamed. Besides, you’re a doctor and a soldier; I can’t believe you have any body-shyness left.”

“My jumpers are not ‘droopy’,” John says huffily. “And I’m not afraid of nudity. I just don’t want to be scrutinized by twenty people for the entirety of an afternoon while _naked_!” John suddenly has a thought. “Oh!” he says. “Oh! How about _you_ be the model, and _I’ll_ be the art student?”

Sherlock frowns. “Can you draw? I’m actually a fairly talented artist, but can you do more than stick figures?”

John gives him an offended look. “I took a few art classes at school – I reckon I could do a decent job of it.”

“Okay,” Sherlock says. “There’s a sketch pad and charcoal on the table. Let’s see what you can do.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt.

John can feel his eyes go wide. “But, Sherlock – you – and – paper – and – naked – and…”

Sherlock pauses with his hands at the zip of his trousers. His shirt is hanging open, framing a more muscular chest than John would’ve imagined. “I can’t send you into an advanced art class if I don’t know you’ll blend in. It could be…dangerous.”

John watches helplessly as Sherlock shucks the trousers, stripping off his pants, shoes, and socks with them. He’s about to take off his shirt when John makes a strangled noise.

“What?” Sherlock snaps.

John swallows hard, then turns to the easel already set up off to the side of the room. “Contrast,” he croaks out, and suddenly he can’t bear the idea of Sherlock completely stripped in front of him. Also, the dark blue of the shirt framing Sherlock’s pale skin is quite…striking. Artistically speaking, of course.

“As you wish,” Sherlock says, and John busies himself with arranging easel, pad and charcoal.

When he’s ready, John peeks around the easel. He _immediately_ pulls his head back like a turtle into its shell.

Sherlock has appropriated the chair that John considers to be his own. Sherlock is…oh dear god. He’s sitting on the back of the chair with his feet on the seat. He’s got his elbows on his knees, hands clasped, and the shirt hangs down on either side. 

“Will this do?” Sherlock calls.

John shakes himself out of his reverie. “It’s fine,” he says. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Sherlock repeats. “Carry on.”

John lifts the stick of charcoal to the page and begins. He’s shocked to realize that he could probably draw the basic shape of Sherlock just from memory. John has recently given in to the fact that he looks at Sherlock’s body. He hopes Sherlock hasn’t noticed, but he knows that’s a lost cause. Sherlock hasn’t said anything, though, and John counts it as a mercy.

Sherlock stays roughly in the same position, but he shifts a little, each time making the sides of the shirt flutter around the slim column of his body. John resolutely _does not look at Sherlock’s…groin._. That way lies madness.

“John?” Sherlock says after a while. “Your breathing has changed, and you haven’t drawn a line in nearly two minutes. Are you done?”

“Yeah,” John says roughly, and he _is_ done. Done in, that is. He jumps when Sherlock touches his shoulder. He shivers when Sherlock’s warm hand drifts up to the back of his neck and squeezes just a bit.

“You’re an idiot,” Sherlock says fondly. “And you are the worst artist in the world.” He reaches out with two fingers and smears the thick, dark lines that make up John’s stick-figure portrait of Sherlock. The movement brings his arm around John, and it’s so close to an embrace that John lets out a low moan.

John feels a soft, wet kiss to the back of his neck, and Sherlock’s arms wrap his waist, his hands resting over the buckle of John’s belt. Before he can even think, Sherlock’s lips are on the skin below his ear. 

“Oh, god, Sherlock,” John says and when he feels fingers curve through his hair, he tilts his head backward to rest on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I want to suck you,” Sherlock says against John’s neck, making John’s body tremble and his knees weak. Sherlock presses up close, and John can feel his cock hard against his lower back. He knows that the harsh material of his jeans has to be uncomfortable to Sherlock’s bare cock.

“Yes?” Sherlock says into his ear. “Do you want me, John?”

At the question, John has to turn in Sherlock’s arms and pulls him close. Sherlock smiles down at him, not even a hint of doubt on his face. He _knows_ that John wants him. John might have been a little irritated by the smugness, but really – who cares about that sort of trivia when there are yards of white skin to kiss and taste right in front of him?

By the time Sherlock slides down to his knees, John is gasping out encouragements and trying to get himself under enough control that he doesn’t come before Sherlock even gets his trousers unzipped. He manages, thank god.

Sherlock doesn’t waste any time messing about, and John’s glad to see he’s not the only one close to the edge. Sherlock pushes John’s trousers and underwear down just far enough to get his cock out. John drops his hands and twists his fingers in Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock gasps, and John’s cock slides in further.

It’s insanely good. Sherlock takes John deep and sucks hard like he can’t get enough of John inside him. John hears Sherlock’s moans echoing his own, and the vibrations around his cock push him higher and higher. He’s about to come embarrassingly fast, so he tries to pull away. Sherlock’s having none of it, and John’s coming after only a couple more hard sucks.

John stays in Sherlock’s mouth as long as he can, and Sherlock seems amenable to that, sucking softly until pushed gently away. John stumbles back and drops to his knees, practically falling mouth-first into Sherlock’s lap. A quick course correction, and he’s nuzzling at the line of soft, dark hair that trails down Sherlock’s flat belly. 

The shirt is still on, the panels of fine cotton still framing Sherlock’s body, and it’s one of the most erotic sights John’s ever seen. He pushes his hands under it to clutch at Sherlock’s narrow hips and sinks down, pulling Sherlock’s cock into his mouth.

“John,” Sherlock whispers above him, his rumbling baritone of his voice slipping deeper and darker. John wants to hear more of that, so he bobs his head and pulls back in long, slow strokes.

“Oh, John. Oh, please. So close.” John can feel the tension in Sherlock’s body, the short stabs forward of his hips, strong fingers pressing into the curve of his jaw and the back of his neck.

John snakes one hand between them and cups Sherlock’s balls, squeezing gently, feeling them pull up tight as Sherlock comes. John swallows him down before pulling off to kiss Sherlock’s thigh.

“Oh,” Sherlock says. “ _Oh_!”

John gives Sherlock’s thigh one more kiss, then looks up. Sherlock is staring at…John’s temple?

“God,” John groans. “You solved it, didn’t you?”

Sherlock kisses the top of John’s head. “Yes. The pattern of the charcoal…” He brushes his fingers against John’s skin.

For the first time, John becomes aware of the grey smudges that decorate Sherlock’s body and knows he must have similar marks. He likes the idea of it – the idea of the evidence of Sherlock’s touch all over him.

“You need to call Lestrade?” John asks. “Give him the news?”

Sherlock buries his face in John’s hair and just breathes him in. “Later,” he says. “Should we take a shower to get rid of the charcoal?”

“No,” John says, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s collarbone. “Absolutely not.”

~end


End file.
